Address of Beelzebub: Robert Burns in defence of migrants

As political rhetoric against migrants reaches a new height, it's Robert Burns' birthday. We're re-publishing a letter he wrote in 1786 to the representative of Scottish Highland landlords, as if from Beelzebub. He is defending the right of Highlanders to migrate to Canada and seek a better life, but it is as relevant to the rights and plights of migrants today.

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To the Right Honourable the Earl of Breadalbane, President of the Right Honourable and Honourable the Highland Society, which met on the 23rd
of May last at the Shakespeare, Covent Garden, to concert ways and means
to frustrate the designs of five hundred Highlanders, who, as the
Society were informed by Mr. M'Kenzie of Applecross, were so audacious
as to attempt an
escape from their lawful lords and masters whose property they were, by
emigrating from the lands of Mr. Macdonald of Glengary to the wilds of
Canada, in search of that fantastic thing-Liberty.

Faith you and Applecross were right To keep the Highland hounds in sight: I doubt na! they wadbid nae better, Than let them ance out owre the water, Then up among thae lakes and seas, They'll mak what rules and laws they please: Some daring Hancocke, or a Franklin, May set their Highland bluid a-ranklin; Some Washington again may head them, Or some Montgomery, fearless, lead them, Till God knows what may be effected When by such heads and hearts directed, Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire May to Patrician rights aspire! Nae sage North now, nor sager Sackville, To watch and premier o'er the pack vile, - An' whare will ye get Howes and Clintons To bring them to a right repentance- To cowe the rebel generation, An' save the honour o' the nation? They, an' be d-d! what right hae they To meat, or sleep, or light o' day? Far less-to riches, pow'r, or freedom, But what your lordship likes to gie them?

But hear, my lord! Glengarry, hear! Your hand's owre light to them, I fear; Your factors, grieves, trustees, and bailies, I canna say but they do gaylies; They lay aside a' tender mercies, An' tirl the hallions to the birses; Yet while they're only poind't and herriet, They'll keep their stubborn Highland spirit: But smash them! crash them a' to spails, An' rot the dyvors i' the jails! The young dogs, swinge them to the labour; Let wark an' hunger mak them sober! The hizzies, if they're aughtlins fawsont, Let them in Drury-lane be lesson'd! An' if the wives an' dirty brats Come thiggin at your doors an' yetts, Flaffin wi' duds, an' grey wi' beas', Frightin away your ducks an' geese; Get out a horsewhip or a jowler, The langest thong, the fiercest growler, An' gar the tatter'd gypsies pack Wi' a' their bastards on their back! Go on, my Lord! I lang to meet you, An' in my house at hame to greet you; Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle, The benmostneuk beside the ingle, At my right han' assigned your seat, 'Tween Herod's hip an' Polycrate: Or if you on your station tarrow, Between Almagro and Pizarro, A seat, I'm sure ye're well deservin't; An'till ye come-your humble servant,